


like a whirlwind

by zinthos



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Noctis just really likes Prompto's freckles okay?, Sorta Established Relationship, light frottage but it's buried under poetic writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinthos/pseuds/zinthos
Summary: “You…” his voice is a croak. He clears it, licks his lips and places a kiss to the column of Prompto’s throat. “You look good like this.”“Was that…” Prompto runs a hand across Noctis' back, lets it travel upwards until his fingers are lost in his messy dark hair. “…Supposed to be dirty talk?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm taking a break from a savage garden to bring u *jazz hands* this. it's [based off this art](https://twitter.com/hellaaa/status/837092000373460992) that i really love so much bc IT'S SO THEM I CAN CRY. the entire dialogue in this fic, as u can see, is taken from the comic itself, i just wrote the... purple prose to give it a story bc it deserved it. i love them so much, set me free.

Wrestling.

His foggy mind tells him the reason why they’ve wound up like this is because of wrestling. And, if he cares enough, if he even _tries_ to concentrate enough, he can feel where Prompto’s punched him, the light throb his bony knuckles left behind, the promise of pale bruises.

But he doesn’t care.

Not when they’re like this. Not when he’s got Prompto sitting in front of him, his legs spread and on either side of his hips, calves resting on Noctis’ thighs. His school shirt’s unbuttoned, the tie long forgotten somewhere in the living room. Convenient, Noct thinks, that he doesn’t wear an undershirt this _one_ day; but it’s been weirdly warm out, so he can’t really blame him.

But that doesn’t _matter_.

Prompto’s freckled shoulders are exposed for him and Noctis places open-mouthed kisses across them, tracing his lips down the path he’s made, teeth scrapping. There’s a heavy blush on his face, freckles more pronounced, dirty-blond lashes standing out as he keeps his eyes closed, swollen thin-lips parted to let out soft, heavy breaths. 

Noct looks at him, his lips on his shoulder, his tongue on his skin. He inhales sharply, rolling his hips, bucking upwards. It’s a slow, soft movement. Still clumsy despite the handful of times they’ve stolen for just themselves, tucked on his dark leather couch, Prompto’s small apartment, Noct’s bed with the darkness of nighttime as a cloak.

There’s no sound but their quiet breathing, the quieter gasps when Noctis presses himself against Prompto. The soundtrack of the game they were supposed to be playing is background music, completely forgotten.

Only this—there’s only time for this. For that friction, the body heat. There’s nothing explicit, but the proximity, Prompto’s shirt undone and off his shoulder, hanging onto his arms, caught at his elbows. Noct’s lips kissing every bit of skin exposed to him, the slow movement of their hips.

It’s…

Like a whirlwind, all of this. Like a hurricane: his head clouded and the world a blur and _Prompto_. 

Prompto and his freckles. Like a challenge, how many can he kiss before he’s tired? But the thing is he can’t—get tired. He’d kiss his stupid face forever.

Prompto’s blushing still, when Noctis pulls away from his shoulder, feeling his fingers dig into his back through his dark shirt.

“You…” his voice is a croak. He clears it, licks his lips and places a kiss to the column of Prompto’s throat. “You look good like this.”

It takes Prompto a moment, eyes still closed, lips still parted as he breathes out. His eyelashes flutter, violet-blue eyes unfocused for a moment before he looks at him. His hair is a mess, Noct notices with a private grin.

“Was that…” Prompto runs a hand across Noctis' back, lets it travel upwards until his fingers are lost in his messy dark hair. “…Supposed to be dirty talk?”

Noctis is kissing his jawline and at this, he pulls back, blinks his eyes. “I… No… Not really?” He takes another second before he wrinkles his nose. “Did it sound like it?”

Prompto snorts, tilting his head to the side and allowing more space for Noctis to lean into, his lips against his freckled shoulder again, following the firm curve of the bone under the flesh and skin. His hand’s moved to rest at the back of his neck, fingers just barely tucked into the longer strands of the unkempt mess of hair Noctis keeps. The other one grips his shirt, a finger carves circles against his back, through the material.

“Well, _kinda_ ,” he snickers and he flinches a bit when Noctis bites at a sensitive spot on his neck, near his ear. “Pretty weak though, dude. Barely did anything for me.”

Noctis uses one of his free hands to run up Prompto’s thigh and he smiles against his skin at how he stiffens. But he pouts soon after, pulling back and staring at him. “I wasn’t really trying.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Prompto laughs, shifting to press himself closer to him, his arms around his neck, hands in his hair. “I’d be worried if you were.”

Noctis hums absentmindedly, watching the grin on his lips, the twinkle in his blue eyes. There’s still that heavy blush on his cheeks, his freckles pronounced, almost like they are during the entire summer, when Noct shyly admits he has to focus to keep his hands to himself.

There are splatters of them across his chest, too and they’re sparse on his stomach. They’re fascinating, make him so… so….

Noct lifts a hand up, brushes the back of his palm across Prompto’s cheekbones, so light, it’s a ghost touch. “I meant it though.”

Prompto sobers up and shakily exhales at the intimate gesture, eyes half-lidded and the flush on his cheeks darkening, if possible. The longer strands of his blond hair fall over his face and Noctis concentrates to speak, fights between following the way his hand caresses him and drinking in his expression, the way he stares back at him.

“Your freckles,” Noctis whispers, “they’re a lot clearer when you’re like this.” He feels his own blush burning his face but he leans closer to him, lets his hand lower so his finger traces the set of his jaw. 

But Prompto lets out a strangled noise from the back of his throat, his face obnoxiously red now and so apparent because of his pale skin. Noctis laughs a bit, pausing from any other ministration just to stare at him. Prompto only lets this go on for a second longer before he wraps his arms around Noct’s neck again and brings him closer, their fronts pressed together and his burning face hidden in the crook of his neck.


End file.
